


regular human anatomy

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Friends With Benefits, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, background Shallura bc I am trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 12:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16264046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You know what I miss, Pidge?”“What do you miss, Lance.”“Pussy.”





	regular human anatomy

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even go here but I wanted to write Pidge sitting on Lance's face and this happened. Completely non-canon but but I hc a couple of years have passed since the beginning of the series so Pidge is closer to eighteen. Enjoy this garbage.

What it really comes down to, Lance thinks, is that he probably needs to get laid.

Shiro and Allura are deep in the honeymoon phase, and he might be the only one who thinks it’s getting kind of old. He isn’t jealous, not exactly; it would be dumb to try to deny he once had a thing for Allura, but he had guessed that something like this might happen sooner or later, and so had accordingly extinguished that torch a long time ago. Plus, he’s really, genuinely happy for Shiro—the poor guy honestly deserves a break—but it’s just sort of hard not to feel some kind of way about it when he and Allura start showing up late to meals with their hair all mussed and playing footsie under the table.

Obviously there’s a lot more at stake here than his own sexual frustration, and he knows he should probably keep it to himself. But he’s  _human_ , dammit, and as time drags on, it becomes less about not wanting to talk about it and more about finding someone who’s willing to listen.

Shiro and Allura are obviously out. Ditto Coran or the mice. Only under the influence of torture would he ever admit to Keith that he’s  _horny_. He’d tried broaching the topic with Hunk by casually asking him when it might be appropriate to ask Shiro what Altean sex is like and Hunk had slapped his hands over his ears and said, “ _Ew_ , dude—they’re like, our  _parents_ ,” which frankly is just... not something Lance has the emotional energy to unpack right now, so.

So, by process of elimination, he finds himself knocking on Pidge’s door.

Figuratively, that is—in reality he just barges right in. Pidge is sitting at their desk with a screwdriver between their teeth, hands full of something metal and complicated-looking that Lance might bother to ask about if he ever had any hope of understanding the answer. They don’t look up or acknowledge him as he hovers in the doorway. “Can I hang out in here?”

Pidge wordlessly gestures over their shoulder, which Lance takes as an affirmative. He has half a mind to perch himself right on their desk in order to draw as much attention to himself as possible, but it seems that it and almost every other horizontal surface in the room is littered with clothing or tech. Lance would think that a castleship with a fully outfitted lab would be ample space to store their various gadgets, but he supposes not. Whatever. He crosses the room in four carefully-placed strides and sprawls out on Pidge’s bed.

He lays there in what he hopes comes across as a broody silence. When Pidge doesn’t take notice of his obvious anguish, Lance tries sighing loudly instead. No response. He sighs even louder. When this yields zero results, Lance says, “So, Shiro and Allura, huh?”

Pidge merely grunts, but frankly that’s all the encouragement Lance needs. He immediately launches into it. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t getwhy she’s into him, you know? Everybody’s into Shiro. He’s got the fearless leader thing going for him, and the whole tortured past schtick, and, like, I’ve seen him in the shower, you know—it’s nothing to sneeze at. I  _get_  it. Shiro’s hot. I’m not blind.”

Another grunt.

“It’s just weird, you know?” Lance goes on, batting at the little twinkling lights Pidge has strung up over their bunk. “Like, Shiro isn’t trying to do the honourable thing or repress his feelings out of some bizarro sense of duty and they’re  _together_. They’re together and they’re probably always going to be together. That’s weird, right? It’s totally weird.”

He’s answered with yet another grunt, but Lance is undeterred.

“Honestly, this isn’t even about Shiro and Allura,” he says, throwing his forearm over his eyes. “It’s about me and my crippling loneliness.”

“Oh, thank God,” Pidge mutters. “I thought it was gonna be about something important.”  

Lance chooses to ignore that. “You know what I miss, Pidge?”

“What do you miss, Lance.”

“Pussy.”

He waits a moment, giving Pidge ample opportunity to cuss him out or drag him out of their room by the earlobe, but it doesn’t happen, so he feels safe to continue. “I mean, alien girls are great, don’t get me wrong,” Lance goes on. “They’re gorgeous. Super exotic or whatever. And I’m openminded, right, but sometimes it just throws me off a little when I get someone naked and it’s like… some kind of sea creature down there? You know what I mean?”

Judging by the lack of noise from the other side of the room, Pidge has paused in their tinkering, so Lance blindly continues, just glad to finally have an audience. “I just—I miss eating out. That’s all. Just once in a while I’d like to put my mouth on something that doesn’t try to crawl down my throat, you know? I just want some nice, regular human anatomy to bury my face in.”

After a rather drawn-out silence, Lance peeks out from under his arm to check that Pidge hasn’t surreptitiously left the room, and is surprised to find they’ve wheeled around to face him on their spinny chair, arms crossed and frowning. “What?”

“You know I have one of those, right?” Pidge says.

“Huh?”

Pidge makes a face. “A  _pussy_.”

“Uh,” Lance says. Because  _duh_ , of course he knows that Pidge has a pussy. He knows in the same vague, distant kind of way that he knows the sun is hot and space is dark and Keith is an asshole—he’s never really had to think twice about it because it just  _is_. It takes him a moment to catch on. “Should I not be talking to you about this stuff? Sorry—I mean, we’re friends, you’re part of the team, you know? I just figured—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Pidge says.

Lance lets his arm drop to dangle off the edge of the bunk. “Then what do you mean?”

Pidge doesn’t say anything immediately. They just shift their chair a little closer to the bed to stretch out their legs and rest their feet on the mattress, slumping back with their arms still crossed, expression turned thoughtful. “I mean, you’re not really utilizing your resources, are you?”

What.

“What?” Lance says.

“I think you’re full of shit,” Pidge says, blunt. “I don’t buy that you miss eating out that much.”

Lance scoffs in offense. “Please. Do you have any idea how satisfying it is to lay a girl down and just go to town on her until she can’t remember her own name?”

“Happens to you a lot, huh?” Pidge replies skeptically.

“Excuse  _you_ ,” Lance says. “I am a connoisseur of cunnilingus. A maestro of muff-eating. A—”

“So prove it.”

… what.

Lance gives them the slow blink. “I’m... not sure I follow.”

“I’m just saying.” Pidge shrugs. “I’ve got some nice, regular human anatomy right here, if you want to put your mouth where your mouth is.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. He sits up, moving to the edge of the mattress to look at them properly, trying to get a better read on whether they’re just fucking with him or actually implying what he  _thinks_  they’re implying. Pidge holds his gaze easily. Steady. Shameless. They lift their chin at him defiantly and something hot and dangerous curls itself around Lance’s guts.

Okay. Definitely implying what he thinks they’re implying. “You’d be into that?”

“Sure,” Pidge says. “Going on two years now and battery-powered orgasms are getting kind of old.”

Well. That’s something. Lance has never really considered Pidge as a sexual being before. He’s never considered any of his teammates as anything other than sexless blobs, simply because allowing his thoughts about his fellow paladins to stray in any other direction is just a recipe for disaster. Even with Allura, he’s always determinedly kept his hands to himself and his thoughts honourable—right up until she and Shiro started showing up to breakfast with twin bedheads and not-so-secret smiles on their faces. Hence his current predicament.

So while he’s never thought of Pidge like that, looking at them now, with their legs stretched out lazily beside him, the hint of a smirk curling the corner of their mouth, Lance thinks he could probably start.

“Okay,” Lance says. “Yes.”

Pidge quirks an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

“Sure. I’m game if you are.”

Pidge just sort of looks at him suspiciously for a moment, like they’re waiting for a punchline, then their face slowly spreads into a proper smile. “Okay. Cool.”

“Cool,” Lance echoes. He hopes he sounds suave and confident and not like his heart is flip-flopping in his chest. “How should we do this? You wanna get on the bed?”

“This is fine,” Pidge says, and lift their hips and—oh, okay they’re already getting undressed. They quickly shuck their shorts, leaving them in their t-shirt and a pair of navy blue boxer briefs, and scoot towards him on the wheelie chair. “You gonna be okay? Your neck won’t get too sore?”

“I’ll keep you posted.” Lance draws Pidge’s legs into his lap and hooks his fingers into their briefs. This feels slightly surreal—a small part of him kind of in disbelief that they’re about to do this, but the rest of him is mostly just excited. He tugs the briefs down and off before he has a chance to overthink it, then pulls Pidge forward by the hips so they’re seated on the very edge of the chair. “Want your socks off?”

“Nah.”

“Okay. Show me what you got.”

Pidge snorts and spreads their legs.

They aren’t really wet yet, at least not as far as he can tell, but the light dusting of pubic hair and delicate folds of soft pink flesh is just about the prettiest thing Lance has seen in  _years_. Pidge seems a little tense at his awed silence, so he runs his hands up their thighs in what he hopes is a soothing kind of way. “Damn, Pidge.”

“Nice, regular human anatomy?” Pidge asks.

“The  _nicest_ ,” Lance says, and slips off the bed to kneel between Pidge’s legs. He can smell them already, vaguely sweet and so profoundly  _human_ , and he’s crazy excited to get a taste. “Anything in particular you’re not into?”

Pidge’s fingers thread into his hair as his cheek skims the inside of their leg. “Not really. Just warn me before using your fingers.”

“Will do,” Lance says, and buries his face between their thighs.

They taste just as good as Lance had hoped, and he almost wants to victory-punch the air at the knowledge, but he settles for a contented hum instead. The hum seems to help Pidge relax fully, slumping down further in the chair and pressing their knees a little wider, sighing as Lance explores them with his mouth and  _God_ , he’s missed this. There’s no feelers squirming against his chin, no teeth to worry about other than his own ( _that_  had been an experience), it’s just warmth and soft skin and slickness and Pidge’s quiet moan when Lance gently circles their clit with his tongue.

It’s a very promising noise, so Lance does it again, a little more firmly, and is rewarded with a much richer sound and Pidge’s other hand pushing into his hair to press his face even closer against their body.

“Yeah,” Pidge mumbles. “Just like that.”

Fuck yeah. Lance exuberantly swirls his tongue over them again and relishes in it when Pidge’s hips flinch up. He winds one arm around their thigh, uses his free hand to spread them open for better access to their clit, and when he draws it between his lips and gives a careful suck, Pidge tightens their grip on his hair and says, “Oh, God.”

 _Fuck_ yeah.

Lance goes back to using his tongue, alternating between long, broad licks all the way up the seam of Pidge’s body and tracing firm circles over their clit. Pidge isn’t saying much else now, but they aren’t keeping him guessing either, tugging at his hair when he hits certain spots and pushing up to meet his mouth, their breathing turned all short and gaspy. He should probably just stick to the tongue swirling thing if he wants to get them off, but he also doesn’t want this to be over too fast; he isn’t sure if Pidge is the type of person who would want him to keep going once they’re finished, and Lance isn’t even close to being done.

The thought has only just occurred to him when Pidge squirms in a way that doesn’t seem entirely positive and mutters, “No, wait, stop.”

Lance immediately backs off, giving his chin a cursory wipe with the back of his hand. “I thought I was doing good?”

“You were,” Pidge says. They stand up—Lance notes gleefully that their legs are slightly unsteady—and push their chair back over to the desk. “Get back on the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna sit on your face.”

Lance’s dick moves all by itself. “Oh. Awesome.”

He settles flat on his back in the middle of the mattress, running his hands up Pidge’s thighs in encouragement as they straddle his hips. They take off their glasses and put them on the nightstand first, which is inexplicably endearing somehow, then pull off their shirt. They’re wearing a kind of vest underneath, like a sort of sports bra that ends at the base of their ribcage; Pidge makes a dismissive sound when Lance curiously brushes his thumb across the bottom of it. “Don’t,” they tell him. “No offense, it’s just a comfort thing.”

“Cool. No problem.” Lance shifts his hands so he’s cupping Pidge’s ass instead. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Pidge says, shuffling up the bed. “Okay for you?”

“Yep.” He makes a big show of getting comfortable on his back as they position their knees on either side of his neck. “Take a seat.”

Pidge half-groans-half-laughs as they settle over his face. “God, you’re the worst.”

It’s infinitely better like this, the position giving Lance the freedom to run his hands all along Pidge’s sides while their body slides along his tongue. Pidge isn’t exactly curvy by any means, but he can still feel the barest dip of their waist, the muscles of their stomach and obliques flexing every time they move, his thumbs pressing to the sharp points of their hipbones as their thighs clench and tremble. They rock down against his mouth in tiny shifting movements of their hips, and when Lance looks up, he can just make out Pidge’s face turned bashfully against their shoulder, lips slightly parted and cheeks flushed and rosy.

 _Damn_.

Lance pulls away for just a moment, eliciting a disappointed huff. He kisses their inner thigh apologetically. “Fingers?”

“Yeah,” Pidge breathes, wriggling impatiently. “Yeah, okay.”

Lance goes slow with it, wetting one digit with his mouth first, then sets his tongue back to work with those slow, circling movements that he knows Pidge likes best. His finger slips inside them easily, to the second knuckle, and their entire body shudders when it happens, their back bowing and hands bracing against the wall above Lance’s head. He’s been hard for a while but feeling Pidge all wet and tight around his finger makes him just that much harder, his hips pressing up, seeking friction of their own accord as he moans around their clit.

Pidge makes a strangled noise that Lance has half a mind to tease them for, but then they say, “Don’t you  _dare_  stop,”and, well. Teasing can wait.

He doesn’t do a whole lot with his finger, just marvels at the way Pidge’s inner muscles squeeze and flex around it, and keeps licking and sucking dutifully until they’re arching and twitching and grinding down against his tongue. When they come, they make this sound—all throaty and feminine and  _devastatingly_  hot, riding out their orgasm against Lance’s mouth until they give a final, full-bodied shudder and slump forward against the wall.

Lance waits until they’ve stopped trembling before he carefully withdraws his finger and surfaces with some reluctance. “You okay?”

“Ngh,” Pidge says.

“That good, huh?”

“Ngh,” Pidge says again. “Give me a minute.”

He’s perfectly happy where he is, and just idly runs his hands up and down Pidge’s legs with his nose pressed to their inner thigh until they start shifting down the bed again. They settle back over his hips, smearing a wet mark right over the erection tenting his sweatpants, but Lance can hardly be mad about it.  _He_  did that, after all.

“Cool boner,” Pidge says.

“Thanks,” Lance replies automatically, just laying there looking at Pidge and tracing little circles on their knees with his thumbs. They’re all flushed and disheveled with this contented half-smile curling their mouth, and Lance is just thinking how he sure wouldn’t mind seeing them like this more often when Pidge suddenly pulls his waistband down to free his dick and spits into their palm.

Lance sucks in a breath as they wrap their hand around him. “Uh—”

“Sorry,” Pidge says, misreading the breath completely. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, yes, absolutely,” Lace says immediately. It’s been a long time since someone else has touched him, and Pidge’s hands are so cute and dainty that they make his dick look huge by comparison. He makes a mental note to never say that out loud to them, ever. “You don’t have to, though.”

“I want to,” Pidge says. “I just don’t really do oral, that’s all.”

“No, that’s okay.” Though admittedly the thought of Pidge’s eyes fluttering closed as they take him into their mouth makes his toes curl in his socks. “That’s—this is nice, thank you.”

Their fist moves easily along the length of him, slower and softer than Lance usually likes, but his stamina is definitely not up to its usual standard so it’s probably a good thing that they’re taking their time. “You got pretty into that, huh?” Pidge says conversationally.

“Well, yeah,” Lance says, trying for nonchalant but not quite managing, gaze hyperfocused on their hand on his dick. “It was pretty hot. You were pretty hot.” 

Pidge makes a thoughtful noise and does  _something_  with their wrist that rapidly has the handjob transitioning from slow and soft to  _oh no this is going to be embarrassing_ and Lance groans and scrambles for purchase in the bedsheets. “ _Fuck_ , Pidge.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good,  _very_  good, I’m just—go easy, okay? I’m kind of running on a short fuse here.”

“Hm,” Pidge says. “You wanna fuck me?”

“I—uh.” That’s... entirely unexpected, but Lance’s dick is extremely intrigued by the prospect; Pidge is kind enough to pretend not to notice when it conspicuously twitches in their grip. “Would you be into that?”

Pidge shrugs. “Yeah. Would you?”

“Yeah.” Lance licks his suddenly dry lips, head already moving in a frantic nod. “Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Cool,” Pidge says, in a tone so casual they might as well be discussing the weather were they not currently rising up onto their knees to shuffle his pants down to mid-thigh. “You clean? Any alien STDs?”

“No alien STDs.” And what a  _fun_  conversation with Coran  _that_  had been. Lance rucks his shirt up a little higher over his abdomen. “I don’t have—do you—?”

Pidge gestures vaguely at their arm. “Birth control implant.”

“Right, cool.” His pulse is in his throat and between his legs, every throb a reminder that this is  _kind of a big deal_ , but Pidge doesn’t seem to want to give him enough time to psych himself out, taking hold of his dick and moving into position as he starts drawing anxious circles on their knees again. “I, uh, I’m a little out of practice.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is this really okay?” Lance asks, because this is happening really suddenly and he can already feel Pidge’s wetness touching his dick and oh  _God_  he’s definitely going to come  _immediately_. “Are we okay? Are you—”

“Lance,” Pidge says, “pretend for once you’re _not_  the teenage girl in this situation,” and sinks down onto him in one easy movement.

And— _fuck_ , because if he thought Pidge was hot when they were flexing around his finger, it’s nothing compared to how they feel flexing around his dick. So invitingly wet and impossibly tight that Lance can’t help the ridiculous horny noise that tumbles out of his mouth, can’t help digging his fingers into Pidge’s hips and pulling them completely flush against his lap, arching up a little in an attempt to bury himself deeper in that delicious heat and—wait, that’s not a happy expression. “Pidge?”

“It’s fine,” Pidge says, though their grimace says otherwise. “Just adjusting.”

Lance relinquishes his grip on them immediately. “We can stop if you want.”

“No, I got this, just give me—” they shift a little and their sentence cuts off abruptly in an adorable breathy noise that Lance will absolutely use for masturbation fodder later. “ _Oh_.”

Lance tries to ask, “You good?” but Pidge chooses that moment to perform a much more elaborate movement with their hips and it comes out more like, “ _Gyuuuh_.”

“Yeah,” Pidge says, “ _yeah_ ,” and does it again.

Admittedly, Lance isn’t particularly well-versed in terms of amorous activities, but this is quickly chalking up to be the best lay he’s ever had. Pidge rides him steadily, both hands on his chest for leverage and groaning softly as they rock down on his dick, and soon enough they’ve become attuned to each other’s rhythms and Lance has his hands all over their ass again as he rolls his body up to meet them and they’re both moaning and gasping and  _fuck, fuck—_

“Fuck, Pidge, wait,” Lance chokes. “I’m—we gotta slow this down.”

Pidge lets out a breathless laugh and thankfully lets up the pace, but then they reach down to rub their clit along with their movements and it immediately becomes evident that watching them touch themself while they fuck him is going to do very little to delay his impending orgasm. Lance groans and clenches his eyes shut purely for self-preservation’s sake. “Oh my God.”

“Can you hold on a little longer?” Pidge asks.

“ _Huurk_ ,” Lance says.

It’s a close thing. Turns out the closer Pidge gets, the harder and faster and  _deeper_  they like it, so amidst Lance saying, “Oh, God—Jesus, Pidge,  _fuck_ —” Pidge is telling him, “Wait,  _wait_ —I’m almost there,  _almost—_ ” and it ends up being a race to the finish for them both. It’s ungraceful and urgent and fucking  _fantastic,_ Lance frantically grasping their hips and thrusting up into them as Pidge braces one hand on the wall, and it’s only once they start mumbling, “Yes, yes,  _yes, yes,”_ that he really allows himself to let go.

Pidge doesn’t make much noise this time, or maybe that’s just because Lance is embarrassingly loud in comparison, but getting to watch while they come on his dick is still nothing short of magnificent. They clench hot and tight around him as their head tips back, face lightly flushed and lips gently parted on the softest, prettiest sigh—and maybe it’s the sigh, or those lips or that flush, but two more clumsy thrusts find Lance right on the edge and he moans, “ _Pidge_ ,” and follows them over.

He’s vaguely aware of Pidge easing off of him as he comes back to himself, staring blearily up at the low ceiling as they settle on the mattress beside him. They lay there shoulder-to-shoulder in Pidge’s narrow bed, silent bar their still-heavy breathing, until Lance finally finds his voice again and says, “Holy shit.”

Pidge exhales harshly through their nose in the semblance of a laugh. “Yeah.”

“I can’t—I just— _wow_.”

“Mhm.”

He was kind of hoping for a more extensive review, but when Lance glances over to find Pidge just laying there peacefully with their eyes closed, he doesn’t really feel the need to press them for it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Pidge says. “A little sore, but I’m good.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Lance faces the underside of the bunk again. He feels like he’s missing something important, frowning as his sex-addled brain slowly puts it together, until he reaches the conclusion that probably should have occurred to him a while ago. “... Pidge.”

“Hm?”

“That wasn’t your first time, was it?”

After a moment of silence, Pidge huffs out a sigh. “Don’t make it weird, Lance.”

“Oh my God.” Lance puts his hands over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s kind of a big deal! I would’ve—I dunno, turned down the lights, put on some nice music, something—”

“I didn’t  _want_  it to be a big deal,” Pidge cuts him off. “I didn’t want you to treat me like—you know, differently. Whatever.”

Lance drops his hands and turns his head to look at them again. “Treat you like what?”

Pidge gestures vaguely down at their body. “Like a girl. Like I’m fragile.”

“Oh.”  _Fragile_  is not a word Lance would ever associate with Pidge. In fact, he’s always thought of them as the exact opposite. “Well. Still. I should’ve realized sooner, it’s just—it’s not something I really think about, that’s all.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Pidge says. “You forgot I have a vagina.”

Lance groans. “I did not  _forget_ , oh my God.”

“You totally forgot. You should’ve seen the look on your face when I said  _pussy_ , oh man—”

“It was weird hearing you say it, that’s all, I just— _stop laughing_.”

But Pidge just laughs harder, which in turn makes Lance laugh too, and then they’re just lying there in various states of undress, laughing until they’re flushed and breathless. Even once they fall silent, Lance feels energized, elated, and when he looks over at Pidge they’re looking up at the lights above their bed, eyes alight and their lips twitching into little smiles as they try to keep themselves from bursting into laughter again and  _oh_.

“Hey, Pidge?”

“What?”

“You think we should kiss?”

He sees Pidge’s expression shift as they think about it, their forehead and nose wrinkling into a grimace. “Yeah, I guess.”

Lance snorts. “Don’t sound so excited.”

“You already kissed me plenty.”

“Yeah,” he says, waggling his eyebrows, “on your  _other_  lips.”

“Jesus,” Pidge mutters, rolling over to face him. “I hate it when you talk.”

They’re the one to close the distance and kiss him first, though, so Lance considers that a win. It’s soft and chaste and brief enough that he feels the need to chase it; he catches Pidge’s face in one hand as they draw away, holding eye contact for a moment to ensure he’s not overstepping, then when their eyes flutter closed he leans in again to properly capture their lips. Pidge tilts their head at the same moment he tilts his, their breath warm against his face, and then their mouths are opening and their tongues are touching and—

They break apart very quickly. Pidge is making a face like they’ve just swallowed a lemon. Lance wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and says, “Yeah, no, that’s—”

“Weird,” Pidge says.

“ _So_  weird.”

After a moment, Pidge sits up and crawls over him to collect their glasses, then moves off the bed to get dressed. Lance just tucks himself back into his sweatpants as they sit down at their desk again. “So,” he says casually, “was it good for you?”

“You want a score out of ten?” Pidge asks.

“Absolutely yes.”

“Seven and a half.”

“Oh, come on!” Lance objects. “I’m at least an eight.”

“Eh,” Pidge says dismissively. “Maybe if you’d lasted longer.”

“You came twice!”

“ _Only_  twice. Do better next time.”

“I—wait,” Lance scrambles upright. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

Pidge looks back at him over their shoulder, studying him carefully for a long moment. Then they turn back to their gadgets. “If you behave.”

Lance doesn’t really know what to say to that, can’t quite find the right words to describe the elation filling his chest, so instead he gets to his feet and crosses the room to wrap Pidge up in a hug. It’s a little awkward and uncomfortable having to bend down to do it, and their movements are probably restricted with his arms wound around their shoulders, but Pidge doesn’t seem bothered, resuming their tinkering without missing a beat. It feels hard to stop once he’s started, so Lance doesn’t let go, just standing there listening to the clink of metal and the steady hum from the ship’s engines with his face smushed against Pidge’s neck.

“How’s your crippling loneliness?” Pidge asks after a while.

“Better,” Lance says, and buries his face in their hair.


End file.
